


Don't

by boundbythepast (incantamenta)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship/Love, M/M, Psychotropic Drugs, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incantamenta/pseuds/boundbythepast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had been acting weirdly possessive after "The Great Game", as John had penned it, but John was starting to get annoyed. One night, John forgets his keys and Mrs. Hudson is out, forcing him to collect the spare from Sherlock. When he gets to the rendezvous point, he is worried when he cannot find his flatmate. Sherlock stumbles out of the darkness, obviously drugged and wounded, forcing John to react and learn something he wasn't sure he was ready for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Just....don't](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/8781) by dauntingfire. 



After the incident with Moriarty, John noticed that Sherlock was inexplicably more protective of him. It would have been fine, if it had remained subtle, but soon it was obvious and John felt little more than a child beside Sherlock Holmes. He was a war veteran for God's sake! He could take care of himself! And how many times had he saved Sherlock's ass!? More than he could count on one hand, for sure.

So it was strange that night when Sherlock seemed to completely disregard him, as he had in the beginning. John felt a mixture of confusion, relief, and disappointment. Wait... disappointment? John thought this over. He realized he liked being the only person able to really get to Sherlock, to have Sherlock actually care what happened to his well-being. John shook his head and rolled his eyes before grabbing his jumper and leaving the flat. When he was outside, he realized he'd forgotten his keys. "Dammit" he muttered before grabbing his phone from his pocket.

 _'I locked myself out. Mrs. Hudson's not around.'_ He clicked send and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep warm from the chill. The stars were shimmering spectacularly and John started walking to just think and observe the sky. His mobile beeped twice and he fished it out of his pocket again to read:

_'Meet me on Craven behind the pub. -SH'_

"What? What's he even doing over there?" John said to himself. Sherlock really didn't drink, it just wasn't his poison. No he much preferred Nicotine patches and the occasional cocaine, but rarely alcohol. He walked a little further until he saw a cab and hailed it. "Craven Street," he told the driver as he buckled up. The ride was silent, the cabbie not even bothering to talk to the slightly peeved doctor. Even the fare was paid in silence. Shivering, John brought his coat closer to his neck and looked around. 

It was dark and the street was busy with people going to the pub, the theatre, the station, and anywhere else their little hearts desired. This made John worry. There was no crime scene here lately, and Sherlock wasn't even on the job, or at least John was lead to believe so. Sighing, he started behind the pub. He was alarmed when he didn't see anyone around. 

"Sherlock?" he called out to the darkness. He wished he had his gun on him. Suddenly, someone stumbled out of the darkness and John flinched slightly. He recognized the form and was terrified. "Sherlock!" he said, starting to go toward him.

"No! Don't!" Sherlock said, holding a hand out to stop him. He straightened up but kept a hand on his side. Suddenly, he shivered and looked like he was about to fall over, but instead he closed his eyes tightly before opening them and starting toward John so quickly that he didn't know what just happened. 

"Whoa! Sherlock, you okay?" he said grabbing his scarf at the same moment that Sherlock backed him into the wall. John was scared. Sherlock's eyes were glazed and he was very much under the influence of some drug. He saw the struggle on his face to regain composure and John didn't know what to do. Suddenly, Sherlock leaned over, placing his mouth very close to John's ear.

"How would you feel if I made you scream, John?" he asked licking his friend's ear. John immediately started and pulled his ear as far as it could get. Unluckily for him, it left his neck quite bare. Sherlock smirked an almost wicked smirk before licking his neck. Then suddenly, he pulled John back to look up at him and his eyes practically burned.

"I could make it look like an accident. Or perhaps frame someone else. I am a genius after all, especially with crime scenes."

"Sherlock! What's gotten into you?"

"Didn't Donovan warn you that I might perhaps be the cause of a murder and that you should stay away from me?"

"Sherlock. Stop this!" It was amazing that John could still be relatively calm, even after his life was threatened. But he knew, he knew he couldn't let Sherlock be hurt. Huh... Strange... He worried more about Sherlock's safety than his own. He pushed that mentally aside for later. Gripping the scarf tighter, he leaned closer to his friend.

"Stop this. It isn't you. I know you're still in there," he said, sternly, earnestly. He saw the flash of guilt and sorrow sweep Sherlock's eyes and slowly the glaze wore down. Whoever had administered the drug had either not given him enough or hadn't accounted for Sherlock's uncanny ability to heal faster than was normal.

"J-John...," he whimpered, slumping, pinning John against the wall. 

"It's okay, Sherlock. It's alright. Let's get you home," he said, soothingly. Sherlock shook his head slightly.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, John," Sherlock confessed, in a rare form of emotional sentiment. 

"Well, first off, you'd've probably died about seven times," John tried, smiling. Sherlock smiled back and straightened up. 

"Okay, back to Baker Street," he said, tidying his coat and looking down at John. He put on a brave front, but there was that wound they'd both forgotten about in the chaos that just wouldn't let him walk. Sherlock crumpled to the ground from a mixture of the injury and the poison.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, checking his pulse. It was weak, but still there. He called for an ambulance and rode the entire way to the hospital with him. By the time Sherlock was done with surgery and placed in a room, John was a right mess. 

"You can see him now," a nurse explained. John rushed past her the moment she told him where to go and he heaved a sigh of relief when he saw his friend in the bed... alive. He took the chair by the bed and sat there, reaching tentatively to grasp his hand. Sherlock slowly opened his eyes.

"John?"

"Don't. Just don't. Don't ever do that again."

"I won't, John... I won't..." Sherlock drifted back to sleep and John sat there, contemplating everything that had happened, everything that was said and unsaid, and realizing that while everything would be fine for now, he had a bigger problem to deal with.

**Love.**

And that was more terrifying than anything they had faced before.

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet inspired wholly by http://dauntingfire.deviantart.com/art/Sherlock-BBC-Just-don-t-179070173
> 
> Was written in Oct. 2011 and originally posted on Deviantart. Please ignore the sappiness, but any criticisms (constructive preferred) are welcome. :) (as well as love... love is always good). This was my first BBC Sherlock piece written very soon after I joined the fandom, and some of my early-on-in-a-fandom pieces are usually wonky (like now I would never have Sherlock have a strange ability to heal faster than normal).


End file.
